


Choices

by Irena31



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7661722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irena31/pseuds/Irena31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was Draco's choice to go through with this. Potions with Snape wouldn't affect anything. Sequel to "Idiots," but can stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices

 

“Then congratulations, you are already halfway to being a man,” his father said with no trace of humor, no irony, the compliment of the previously arrogant. Lucius Malfoy was now a languishing specter of himself. Yet, he still took the time to laud Draco’s new status.

The Mark scarred his left wrist, its spidery ink twisting and lashing closely to his veins. He closed his eyes. He was now permanently one of them. The mission had to be completed.

* * *

 

He saunteredout of the Room of Requirement, his aloof confidence masking the unusual pastiness of his skin. Dark circles were starkly etched underneath his eyes. He looked nothing like the elitist his family line claimed him to be. The mission would kill him, he was sure of it. He felt sick, guilt and desperation taking swings at him interminably.

Blaise had confronted him earlier. He had stumbled into the dorms after midnight, disoriented and loosely clutching a bottle of Ogden's Finest. Normally, he would refrain from such common drinks-elf-made wine was the lowest he would go-but he was desperate for the palliativeeffects of the crude alcohol.

Blaise had woken up and guided him towards bed. Draco had been hypersensitive of his surroundings: the mahogany lacquer of his bedpost, the eminent green and silver of his decor, the hardened callouseson Blaise’s hands. Blearily, he remembered that Urquhart had demanded he start showing up on time to Quidditch practice. Urquhart was less easily persuaded than Montague had been. Then again, his father hadn’t previously been to Azkaban and prevented from supplying the team with new equipment.

Draco had been cruelly roused from his sleep in the morning by a harried Blaise, who exasperatedlytold him Potions began in fifteen minutes. Draco had groaned pathetically, whereupon Blaise informed him of his sallowcountenance and told him to get up quickly to fix his hangover.

* * *

 

Within five minutes, Draco exited the portrait hole, deftlyrunning a hand through his hair and wincing slightly from the aftereffects of the hangover potion. Strictly speaking, such use was forbidden, but he wasn’t about to face Snape without being relatively alert. Walking into Potions, he sneered at the mawkish displays of Weasley and-what was her name? Purple? Amber? No matter. The two goggled at each other. Draco snorted-Weasel was probably wondering how he landed such a fit airhead and Purple was admiring the way the food stains on his robe were matched his God-awful hair. Granger appeared next to Weasley, looking ticked off and throwing glances to the Weasel, her bush of hair already beginning to puff up from the room’s fumes. Draco heard her show the Weasel her newest extra credit assignment as Purple left for her own table. Granger babbled excitedly while her cheeks tinted red.

“Yeah, nice job, ‘Mione. You really are the smartest,” the Weasel replied distractedly, craning his head to look at Purple while Granger flushed even more. Draco sneered; if that was her idea of flirting, perhaps she did belong with the obtuse orangutan. Still, he envied their casual conversations. They were guilelessand had no ulterior motives. They didn’t have a price over their heads. Even if they did, of course bloody Saint Potter would make it disappear. The Boy Who Just Wouldn’t Die would surely swoop in to be the hero.

Snape had emerged from his office and begun to lecture. Draco allowed himself to close his eyes briefly. The potion had managed to alleviatemost of his hangover, but he still felt drowsy. Besides, he felt no need to listen to Snape’s brashremarks towards the Gryffindors. After Snape snarked in response to Longbottom’s bumbling ineptitude, Draco resignedly went to the supply closet to gather materials. As he set up his station and began to grind beetle eyes, Snape abruptly turned and leaned over to Draco.

“Leave me alone!” he said vehemently, hissing through his teeth as he narrowly avoided cutting his own hand instead of the pods. The indignityof Snape trying to shoulder onto his mission irked his considerably.

“Draco, you do not comprehend the gravitas of the matter. You should not have to atone for your father’s-”

“Well, he’s not bloody well here, is he?” Draco hissed. “He’s been carted off to Azkaban, thanks to Potter,” glaring back at the raven-haired boy. Draco knew his reticencefrustrated Snape to no end. However, he had come this far and would not be deterred. He prepared to defend his stance. His mother would be killed if he did not follow through! At Snape’s silence, his bravado falteredand he turned to his cauldron. He had been edgy and easy to roilever since the Dark Lord had personally spoken to him. Snape opened his mouth, but but was interrupted by the grating noise of Gryffindor girls’ squeals. Unsurprisingly, Longbottom’s potion had exploded and everyone was making a frenziedexit to escape the dark blue substance. Draco took advantage of the melee to duck out of the room as well, breathing deeply in relief. He went up to the seventh floor, across from the tapestry of trolls learning ballet.

“Move,” he said brusquely to a group of Slytherin second years, who quickly scuttled out of the way. He waited for them to leave the corridor and then paced three times in front of a stretch of blank wall. As he stopped, a door materialized. He grasped the brass doorknob, debating his nerve and reluctance to continue the project. He agitatedly ran through his hair and opened the door, yielding the temptation to just run, to escape this death sentence. He entered the Room.

He was the boy with no choice.


End file.
